But Not Today
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: The last of the Working Stiffs series and who better to close it than with the little old man who had a hand in hiring all those people. No sex, no cussing, no spurting blood and guts - sorry...


A long time ago, a good friend of mine approached me with a business deal. I'd known Alexander for many years. We'd served in the Great War, been idealistic daydreamers together. We'd fought, we'd caroused, we'd gotten falling down drunk and we'd loved our share of women. The difference was that Alexander never stopped fighting the good fight after the war was over. He could see the dangers ahead while the rest of us just tried to hide, falling back into the routine of everyday life. When the Second World War hit, he'd already started the gears in motion, a world organization, made up of the very best that each country had to contribute and they would fight the enemy on levels that normal men couldn't. He invited me to be part of it and to my shame, I refused. I'd had my fill of killing and of death. I had neither the drive nor the ambition needed to be a part of his dream.

A few years later, he approached me again, this time with a different goal. The organization was set, fledgling though it was, and now it needed to be staffed, not with fighters, but with workers. With people who weren't just your ordinary run-of-the-mill folks, but special ones with special talents. You see, I had a way of finding these people without even really trying. And I had a gift of seeing in them what others couldn't or didn't want to. I can't claim that I am responsible for all the fine men and women who come through our front door at the start of each working day, but I am pleased and proud to point to a good many shining examples.

Now that I am rapidly approaching retirement, Alexander thought that it might behoove us to write down a few of those stories of those young people. Some were reticent at first, others delighted and some just staunchly refused. Those were the ones who gave me the greatest sense of disappointment; that they either felt themselves unworthy or too worthy.

Like the good agents of UNCLE, I tend to spend much of my time on the road. It is a lonely existence and one not suited for everyone. I'd never married; my best girl wrote me a Dear John letter when I was struggling to stay alive in the trenches in Hungary. I'd never found another to replace her. This made my life of travel ideal. It may sound a lonely existence, but it suited me.

And while I didn't have a wife, I had hundreds of children, for that's how I felt towards my young recruits. I would watch them blossom and flourish. And like any proud father, I would share their successes, mourn their failures and always be ready with a shoulder for them to cry upon. Some I would never see again after I recruited them for UNCLE, but others I never lost touch with.

As I started documenting these stories, I was amazed that two names seemed to come up again and again – Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. And it wasn't as if I hadn't had my opportunity to run into them. Once I'd stumbled across a threshold and sprained my wrist. I went down to Medical to have it looked at and while I was there, an alarm went off. Miss Nellie took just a second to pat me kindly on the shoulder, murmured, "Sorry, emergency" and raced from the room. As I went to the door to investigate, I saw a gurney coming in, the occupant surrounded by doctors and other medical personnel. Trailing behind, splattered in an unnatural array of red was a blond, his features distorted and his own movements jerky, revealing his own injuries. That had been my first introduction to Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin.

The next opportunity I had was in the canteen. I am not a regular there, but whenever I find myself in the building, my path tends to lead me down there. The truth of the matter is that I am rather sweet on one of the charming ladies behind the counter. She had just recently lost her husband and we had found talking to be therapeutic for her and a pleasant time passer for me.

I was sitting with my coffee at a table where I could watch her and the rest of the room. Miss Nellie was at a table with two other of my recruits, Suzie Fields and Sherrie something or other. I'm not always good with names these days. They were sitting and talking, and then I noticed Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin enter and the reaction of the three was incredible. They were terrified and from the looks on the faces of the agents, I could see why. Mr. Solo looked mad enough to spit nails and his Russian partner could have made boiling water freeze in seconds.

I wasn't close enough to hear the exchange, but I could tell the women were terrified. However, I had to admit the two men looked much better than the last time I'd seen them. They appeared rested and tanned, as if they had been away on holiday. I was given to understand agents didn't usually take vacations together, but perhaps this had been a special case.

And this is how it went; we were like ships passing in the night. They knew me only enough to recognize me as a fellow UNCLE employee. I knew them as UNCLE's top agents, but not much more than that. I will confess that both of these men were little more than strangers to me when I started this project, but after talking to the working people of UNCLE, I came to feel that I knew them a little bit better for it.

I was coming out of my building one morning, the early sun promising to warm the day pleasantly. The birds were singing, the air was sweet and suddenly I was confronted by two swarthy looking gentlemen.

"Hello, Mr. Kelly, we need you to come with us for a little talk." The shorter of the two spoke up. He had a distinct Jersey twang to his voice.

"And to whom may I direct my remarks?" I glanced around, but as luck would have it, we were alone on the street. I used my free hand to fiddle nervously with my tie, activating the homing device. I had scoffed when Alexander had pressed it on me.

"My superiors just want to have a visit with you. They want to chat about hiring techniques." The second gentleman reached out and grabbed my upper arm in a firm, no-nonsense hold and nodded to a waiting car.

"Ah, so I take it my abilities have not escaped THRUSH's notice." My mind was racing. By the time any help arrived, I would be long gone and while I wasn't exactly in fear for my life, I wasn't anticipating a cordial _tête-à-tête_ either. These young men didn't look like the conversing type. "Very well." I took a step, hesitated, and took a deep breath, then clutched my chest.

Perhaps faking a heart attack wasn't the most original _modus operandi, _but it worked. They sped off, leaving me convulsing and twitching on the sidewalk. By the time I was sure of their departure, a crowd had gathered and I met two very nice young ambulance attendants, both of whom now have my card and my recommendation for employment.

The doctor checked me out and pronounced me fit, which of course I knew, but I was still troubled. It had been the first time our enemy had ever approached me and it left me nervous.

"May I borrow your phone, please?" I asked the very pretty nurse at the front desk and she took me to a phone I could use in relative privacy. Dialing the number, I noticed for the first time how much my hands were shaking.

"Uncle Imports, how may I direct your call?" Ah, that was another of my young ladies, Jenny Jean, by name and, I think, newly married to a Section Three agent.

"Yes, Mrs. Todd, this is Mr. Kelly. I would like to speak to my Uncle Alex, please."

The next thing I knew some very burly Section Three agents came along and escorted me to the safety of UNCLE HQ, ushering me directly to Alexander's office as if I were the most important person to ever grace UNCLE's corridors.

They stopped before the sliding doors, hanging back as I walked on alone. Alexander was there, as he always is these days, but there were two additional people at the table.

"Ah, Tom, old friend, come in." Both men stood and I was delighted to be face-to-face with Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin. I was amazed how much smaller they seemed, but no less formidable. Mr. Solo's hand was smooth and well taken care of; his hand shake was firm and no nonsense. Mr. Kuryakin's hand seemed the size of a baseball mitt and I watched my hand disappear into his, but he seemed mindful of the fragility of older bones and kept his grip controlled.

"I am pleased to finally meet both of you in person. I've seen you many times."

"Tom, I asked these young men here to decide what to do about your little visit this morning."

"These men who approached you? You are certain they were THRUSH?" Mr. Kuryakin's voice had a British accent to it, so surprising when you consider his background. He settled back down into his chair, his hands fumbling with a pair of black rimmed glasses.

"Fairly certain yes, I mentioned THRUSH and they took it in stride, as if familiar with it, and didn't question my use of the term."

"And they wanted to talk to you about?" Mr. Solo, likewise, had sat back down.

"My hiring techniques."

"Sir?" Mr. Kuryakin looked over at Alexander, who smiled and reached for his pipe.

"Mr. Kelly is responsible for a good many of the young people we have who do everything from mopping our floors to handling transmissions."

"I see." It was obvious that neither of them did and that was fine, Mr. Solo wasn't going to let that stop him. "Seeing as THRUSH has familiarized itself with Mr. Kelly's routine, we can take one of two paths as I see it, sir. Either we send Mr. Kelly on his way and attach a couple Section Three men on his tail or Mr. Kelly disappears for a few days and we send in one of our Section Two men to impersonate him." Mr. Solo leaned back and eyed his partner. "Illya is about the right size."

"Someone else, Mr. Solo," Alexander cut him off. "You and Mr. Kuryakin will be acting as Mr. Kelly's guards."

"Sir?"

"He happens to be an old friend of mine and I will permit nothing to happen to him; do I make myself clear, gentlemen?"

I felt bad for them as neither had given any indication of protests, but they both responded in the affirmative.

The car ride from New York City into the wilds of upstate New York was pleasant enough. I sat in the back seat and happily watched the countryside go by. This was the part of my job I loved the most and got to enjoy the least. Usually I was too busy driving to pay attention to the sights.

Yet, even as I stared out the window, I kept half an ear on the conversation playing out in the front seat. Just by the casualness of it, I knew these were two men closely associated. Gradually, they forgot my presence in the back seat and I watched Mr. Solo's hand stray occasionally to touch Mr. Kuryakin's arm as he drove. It was obvious that Mr. Solo was very tactile and his partner was both familiar and comfortable with it.

I hadn't even realized I'd dozed off until the car stopped. I sat up, blinking, and feeling a bit foolish about my cat nap, but it emphasized to me just how at ease I felt in the presence of these two young men.

"Where are we?"

"Greenville, just off of 91." Mr. Kuryakin climbed from the car and glanced around, although what he was looking for was a mystery. It was very dark out of the range of the headlights. I could just barely make out a shape beyond them. "That is our rental property," he said to me and then to his partner. "If you will mind our guest, I'll go take a look around."

I watched him pull something from his jacket, his weapon I realized belatedly, and suddenly the gravity of my situation slammed home. These young men weren't just there as companions to me, they were prepared to die to keep me safe and they did it without complaint or hesitation. I knew they were only two of a legion, but still it was the first time I'd actually experienced what I had worked much of my life to support.

"Are you doing all right back there, Mr. Kelly?" Mr. Solo's voice was carefully pitched to convey confidence and calm, but even as he spoke, his attention was moving constantly, never stopping anywhere but for a few seconds.

"I am a little stiff, to be honest, and would appreciate a good rest."

"Shouldn't be long now, sir." A minute drifted into two and then four, and I watched him grow more and more anxious as each second ticked by. "He's very thorough," he explained to me and I smiled, nodding. It wasn't me he was trying to reassure as much as himself.

Then the house lights blazed on and I saw him physically relax. He hustled me inside before I could even get a good look at our surroundings. Inside, I was surprised at how compact it was. There were two beds, a twin and a double, a well appointed kitchen, and a small dining room with an equally small table. With the exception of a door leading to a bathroom, the floor plan was open.

I must have been more tired than I knew, for I barely managed to make it through my nightly ritual and fall into the narrow twin bed before I was asleep. Being a fugitive is exhausting work and my sleep was dreamless. I knew I had nothing to fear with these two gentlemen close at hand.

Dawn was just starting to break, gray and bleak, when I awoke the next morning and for a long moment, I just lay there, listening to the day around me. Rain was pattering on the roof of the small house and the interior was cold and clammy. If it wasn't for my bladder, I would have been inclined to simply lie there and fall back asleep, but I'm an old man and things have to be dealt with .

As I exited the bathroom, I glanced over to where my intrepid bodyguards slept. While the bed afforded them adequate room, I noticed they slept very close together, perhaps drawing comfort from each other's presence, and that their right hands disappeared disturbingly beneath their pillows, presumable each one resting upon a weapon. I was careful not to startle them as I made my way back to bed, although I suspected both were awake the moment I first moved from the bed.

When I woke the next time, the smell of coffee filled the small house and rain was pounding down on the roof. There was a log blazing in the fireplace and it made the interior cozy and no longer damp. I sat up and stretched, drawing the attention of the single agent I saw.

"Mr. Kelly, did you sleep well?" Mr. Kuryakin was more causally attired this morning in a black tee shirt over, which he wore a shoulder holster and his weapon, and worn denim jeans. He looked on edge and kept glancing towards the windows that opened onto a desolate lake view.

"Very well, thank you. Are you all right, my young friend?"

"What?" He seemed startled and then he gave me this smile. "Yes, and I will be finer still once Napoleon returns." He poured coffee into a mug as I struggled free from my blankets and pulled on my robe.

"Has he been gone long?"

"Not really." There was an on/off sound and I confess that I jumped at it. Mr. Kuryakin's smile grew and he stood to walk to his jacket. From there he pulled something out, manipulated it and said, "Kuryakin."

"Mr. Kuryakin." It was my old friend Alexander. "How is your guest this morning?"

"Still in one piece, sir." Mr. Kuryakin held the slender pen out to me. "Say good morning, Mr. Kelly."

"Alexander, how are you this excellent day?"

"All the better for knowing you are well however, there is cause for concern, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Sir?"

"The agent impersonating Tom was found dead this morning. THRUSH is on to our ruse."

Mr. Kuryakin's head fell and he closed his eyes as though in pain. He would have known the agent who fell in my stead. Another victim in our war against THRUSH. "Change of plans, sir?"

The front door opened and Mr. Kuryakin's gun was pointed in that direction before I even realized that he had drawn the pistol. Mr. Solo held up a hand and the weapon was holstered.

"Mr. Kuryakin?" Alexander's voice sounded agitated.

"Just Napoleon returning, sir. We were speaking of a change of plans?"

"For now, you can remain, but do be on alert."

"Understood, Kuryakin out."

"Trouble at home?" Mr. Solo set the box he was carrying down on the table.

"Hennings is dead. I knew I should have gone instead."

"Why, so you could be dead now?"

His partner made a face at him and started to pull items out of the box. "You didn't buy eggs? That's the one thing I sent you for."

"Still in the car, my impetuous Russian, have a little faith in me."

"I do… have little faith in you."

"Funny guy. For that you can make breakfast."

"I was going to anyway."

The day moved forward slowly. Both agents were on edge and every time there was a crack or some other noise, they reacted, their attention always going back to the large bay windows.

"Those are supposedly bullet proof glass," Mr. Solo said.

"No such thing; resistant perhaps, but not bullet proof." They had tucked me into a corner well away from those windows, near the fire place. I had my book and a cup of tea, and was reasonably comfortable. "We should sleep in shifts tonight."

"Agreed." Mr. Solo pointed to the bed. "Why don't you grab some sack time now and you can take the first shift?"

Mr. Kuryakin did little more than remove his shoes and laid down before he was asleep.

"I envy him that," Mr. Solo said to me after a few minutes. "As agents we're taught to sleep whenever we can, but I was never much good at it. Illya, on the other hand, excels."

"Then you are perfectly paired," I said, smiling.

"Yes, we are." Mr. Solo continued to watch his sleeping partner, darkness settling over his features.

"If it **had** been him, Mr. Solo, perhaps he wouldn't have died."

He seemed surprised that I was able to pick up on his fear so easily, but I knew his thoughts lingered on the fact that he had suggested his partner take my place and the man who did was now no more.

"One day, it could be," he said slowly, softly as if afraid by saying the words, it gave them more credence.

"But not today," I said, firmly and a moment later he smiled and shook his head.

"No, not today."

No sooner had the words escaped his lips it then it the bay window imploded. Cracks spider webbed across it and with one heaving breath, it collapsed. With a shout, Mr. Solo had knocked me over, behind the couch and turned it over to afford the greatest protection. Mr. Kuryakin was off the bed and I was shoved beneath the sofa as guns blazed, bullets screamed, and people shouted. Then suddenly it was over and the silence was deafening. For a long moment, I lay there, whispering prayers thought long forgotten to every God I could put a name to. I did not want to die, not there and certainly not now.

Then I heard a familiar voice. "Mr. Kelly, are you okay?" Mr. Solo's face sprang into view and I wanted to scream for joy. That meant we won; I slid out from beneath the protection the couch had afforded, amazed at the destruction around me. I knew the gun battle had lasted mere minutes, but the room was in ruins. And then I saw Mr. Kuryakin, pale and blood smeared, standing staring at a long-fallen enemy. I grabbed Mr. Solo's arm and he followed the direction of my gaze. In an instant, I was forgotten as he rushed to his partner.

"Hello, Napoleon, I seem to be…" Mr. Kuryakin got that much out before he dropped to his knees, his eyes confused as if unsure of his surroundings and circumstances. "I… I..." He pitched forward and Mr. Solo dropped his gun as he caught his crumpling partner.

Out of habit, I retrieved it and tucked it into my coat pocket, after making sure the safety was on, of course. I didn't hesitate, but went to the phone. It was dead and then I remembered the communicator. Mr. Kuryakin's jacket was still hung by the door and I hurried to it.

It took me a couple of attempts to get the device open and I didn't know exactly what to say. "Hello? I tried. "Alexander, c an you hear me?"

"Channel D is open." The voice was cool and calm, something I wasn't.

"This is Tom Kelly, we have an agent down." Those were the magic words; suddenly I heard Alexander's wonderfully familiar voice.

"Tom, what happened?"

"Ambushed, Alexander. Mr. Kuryakin is hurt. We need help."

"It's on its way to you." His voice continued on, but that was when I saw the shadow creeping closer. I didn't know who it was and frankly didn't really care. When I saw him take aim at Mr. Solo as he cradled his fallen partner, I knew of only one course. I pulled the gun, thumbed off the safety, aimed, and fired. It had been many years since I'd taken a human life, but never have I regretted the act less.

"Tom! Tom!" Alexander's voice was demanding and filled with alarm.

"We're fine, Alexander," I said as Mr. Solo flashed a grateful smile at me. "We have it all under control."

We sat quietly in the small waiting room of the local hospital. Mr. Solo had been given some clothes to change into and his blood-stained clothes taken away. There had been a great many questions asked and I was sure none of them had been answered to the complete satisfaction of the local authorities. A handful of agents arrived, flown in by helicopter, and my heart sprang to life when I saw Alexander's familiar form climb out. He spared me just the briefest of greetings before going directly to Mr. Solo.

I tried not to blame myself for all of this. I should have just gone quietly with the first THRUSH agent and none of this would have happened. Mr. Hennings would be alive and Mr. Kuryakin would be uninjured.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Tom." Alexander's voice caught me by surprise. I smiled, thinking back to a lifetime ago when I accused Mr. Solo of the same thing. "These young men, this is what they do, what they believe in and what they are willing to die for."

I blinked back tears as I watched Mr. Solo stare resolutely ahead, his thoughts closed to everyone but himself, and then a doctor appeared, bloodstained and exhausted looking, but with relief and happiness in his eyes. He shook Mr. Solo's hand and started talking to him in quiet words, but the joy I saw in my young friend's face made any explanation to us superfluous.

I nodded then, because words wouldn't come immediately. Then softly, after swallowing a time or two, I whispered, "But not today."


End file.
